


Snowflakes

by Sylv



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Multi, OT3, Teen Wolf, Threesome, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-19 19:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 14,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylv/pseuds/Sylv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty-five drabbles of twenty-five different pairings and relationships, all from the teenwolf-christmas tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scarf

Derek/Allison;scarf. Rated T.

\---

Derek does a lot of things differently, now that he has a girlfriend. He’s learned to clean up before she comes over, so she doesn’t spend the entire time lecturing him on hygiene and sterility. He eats less easy-to-buy snack food than he would really like. He even promised to stop sneaking into people’s bedrooms through their windows, since it apparently “really freaks my friends out, ok?”

But this is too far. And the fact that she’s smiling ear to ear, giggling, practically glowing with happiness, does not help what he has to do at all. Derek has lines, dammit, and they won’t be crossed!

“It’s…”

“A scarf!” Allison supplies, eagerly holding it up for him. The thing is about as long as one of his arms, thick and red, white, green, all completely and totally hand-knitted. And he hates it.

“I thought you could use a little color in your life,” Allison told him, eyeing his chosen outfit of the day as though it has personally offended her. “There’s nothing wrong with black, but it can’t be the only thing you wear.”

He tugs at his leather jacket, wondering how exactly to approach this. “Allison, it’s really nice of you to do this but I don’t need a scarf. I’m warm enough with my jacket on.”

She frowns at him. “It took me ages to knit this you know. I looked it up online. And it’s all the Christmas colors, so you can wear it for the season.” Her big, brown eyes stare up unblinkingly at him.

And he’s done. He knows he’s beat before he even stops fighting. “I don’t like bright colors,”

Allison bites her lip, and it’s absolutely excruciating. “Please?”

Oh god. Derek grabs the scarf and exits through the front door without a word, tying it around his neck as he goes. Allison is waving from the hallway, smiling. He curses the day that he asked her to go walking through the woods with him.

\---

Stiles is so excited when he sees it that he’s literally bouncing in his seat when they pull up to Scott’s house.

Scott isn’t even in the car before Stiles grabs the scarf and holds it up as some sort of evidence, crowing, “Look at what _Allison made him_ , look at the cute little scarf, isn’t he just the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen?”

Scott’s grin could split his face as he leans forward to say, “Did I forget to warn you that Allison is literally the worst gift-giver ever?”

“Did she dress you today? Did she tie your shoes and button up your coat too?” Stiles really isn’t funny, but sometimes he thinks he’s just hilarious and cracks himself up. Derek is never amused.

“Stiles is a human so I’m not allowed to break him, but I will punch you in the face Scott,” he growls, hands flexing on the steering wheel.

Scott snorts and leans even further forward in his seat. “Better bundle up Derek, it’s cold out today.”

The day’s training session is put off until another time, as Derek’s two passengers are unceremoniously booted. The tires screech as he drives off, but it doesn’t cover up the laughter of the boys behind him.

\---

“You actually made him wear that?” Lydia asks, recoiling from the picture that Allison was showing her on her phone. “It looks like Christmas threw up.”

Allison smirked. “I know. But Derek owes me for that time last week when he crawled into Stiles’s room again, and scared him half to death by waking him up in the middle of the night. He promised he wouldn’t do that anymore.”

“You can’t teach an old wolf new tricks,” Lydia comments, dropping an M&M into her mouth. “It really is hideous though.”

“It’s not that bad,” Allison says, looking at the picture again. “I made it myself, and I’d say for a first try it’s pretty good.”

“Try a thousand more times before giving any more of them to anyone else, ok?”

She should have known better than to come to Lydia. The girl had never been good at softening her words. “No Christmas present for you this year,”

Lydia snorts, and even that’s pretty. “You don’t get me a present, I kill you. Plain and simple.”

\---

Derek comes back to the house seething, to find Allison sitting in their bed upstairs, waiting for him.

“Hello…” he says cautiously, moving into the room. She smiles at him, and it’s wicked. And for a heart-stopping moment, he thinks she’s made another scarf.

“I thought you deserved a reward for wearing that,” Allison nods at the scarf still around his neck. “Come here.”

He does so, sitting on the bed next to her.

She unwinds it from around his neck, and then holds it out to him, lying across her palms. “Remember that one time you said you’d like to try tying me up?”

Derek finds himself taking a sudden and passionate liking to the scarf.


	2. Family

Jackson/Lydia; family. Rated T.

\---

“Jackson,” Lydia said very seriously as they lay together in the afterglow, his arm around her shoulders and her head pillowed on his chest. “We need to talk about something.”

“What?” he mumbled back at her, eyes already closed and drifting off into a half-doze.

“Well, as you know, I just turned twenty-nine. In my life plan—“

“Oh Jesus,” Jackson muttered, rolling over so that his back was facing her. Lydia had had a ‘life plan’ for as long as he could remember, and it irritating the living hell out of him.

When they were in college she double majored in chemistry and physics, deeming math alone too simple for her—and then dragging Jackson along to her early graduation. She would not sleep more than a few hours a night until she was fully settled into a secure, high-ranking job in the business of her choice. She bullied Jackson into proposing because she “had to be married by twenty-six”. It seemed like she wasn’t done with her stupid plans.

“We have three months,” she continued, completely ignoring his exasperation. “Because the plan is that I am going to have children by the time I’m thirty.”

Jackson’s body did something really interesting where he twitched and froze at the same time, leaving him with a very painful strain in his spine and Lydia leaning up over him, looking as though she might call an ambulance.

When she was sure that he was not dying, and breathing normally, she continued, “I think we should start having sex on a regular basis—if we could get in once a day that would be great, but I don’t know if you would be up to that stamina-wise so I suppose I could settle for five times a week, but I don’t really think that we can do any less if we’re going to get pregnant in just three months’ time.”

“No.”

At that Lydia’s eyebrows shot up towards her hairline, and she leaned over him again, this time with a confused little frown on her face. “No? But Jackson—“

“I said no.”

He slipped out from under the covers, ignoring all of his wife’s protests from where she sat up in bed, and made his way to the shower. The steam and hot water drowned out any other noise, and Jackson stood under the pounding stream for minutes, letting the heat seep into his muscles and unclench his fists.

\---

Jackson walked into the house one day after work to find Lydia sitting on a chair, legs curled up onto the seat, flipping through a magazine. He leaned over to kiss the top of her head, and saw pictures of cradles, baby clothes and toys.

“Lydia, I told you that it’s not happening!” He said, immediately spinning on his heel and marching upstairs, dropping down onto the bed and putting his head in his hands. She followed him—of course she did—and draped herself over his back, pressing her cheek up against his from behind.

“You’re really getting in the way of my plan, you know.”

\---

For about a week or so, Jackson thought she had dropped the topic altogether, and he was couldn’t find the words to explain how grateful he was. It wasn’t until later, when he was hovering over her in bed, kissing and moving together, that he realized his wife was very far from done with the entire thing.

“Hold on,” Jackson whispered to her, reaching over to the bedside table where he fumbled around inside of the drawer.

“No,” Lydia shook her head, smiling up at him. “No condom,”

A grin leapt to Jackson’s lips, and he leaned down to kiss her again. “Sexy…” he murmured. “Are you on the pill babe?”

The few moments of uncomfortable silence were all Jackson needed to be completely thrown out of the mood. He rolled off of her with a cry of “Christ Lydia!”

“I’m sorry Jackson!” she replied, sitting up and reaching for him. He shied away from her touch, rubbing his hands along the sudden rise of goose flesh on his arms. “I’m so ready to have kids.”

“Well I’m fucking not,” he snapped, pulling on his boxers. “And don’t fucking pull any shit like that again Lydia.”

She watched him storm downstairs.

\---

An hour or so later, Jackson was sprawled out on the couch, flipping through channels without paying much attention to them. He kept his eyes steadily on the television screen when Lydia entered the room wrapped in a robe. She stared at him for a few seconds before coming to sit next to him—not too close, he noticed.

“Listen, Jackson…” she trailed off there, and it was so unlike her to be at a loss for words that he couldn’t prevent himself from meeting her eyes.

“I know that you’re scared about having kids because… because you were adopted.”

Jackson flinched, eyes flicking back to the television again.

“But if we had our own kids, they would be ours. And I know for a fact that you would be an amazing father,” She faltered and stared down at her lap. “And I never should have tried to trick you, or force you. I’m so sorry.”

She leaned over to kiss him lightly on the cheek, standing up and leaving him be for the rest of the afternoon.

\---

Jackson crawled into bed, pressing himself up against Lydia’s back and wrapping his arms around her waist. She responded immediately, snuggling more deeply into the curve of his body.

“You have to… give me a little time Lydia,” he whispered to her. “Just, let me think about it, alright?”

Lydia interlaced her fingers with his and squeezed.

\---

Lydia was thirty-two when she had her first child. Her excitement could only be matched by Jackson’s terror, but when she looked up at him from the hospital bed and said, “We did it,” he thought that maybe it could be worth it.


	3. Snow

Derek/Jackson. Rated T.

\---

It’s unseasonably cold, so much so that there is a layer of snow frosting the ground when Derek wakes up in the morning. He frowns out the window, preparing to roll over and go right back to sleep, when he sees something move out of the corner of his eye.

Pressing his nose right up against the cold panes of glass, he could see down into the yard, where someone was moving around, sitting for a few minutes and then standing up just to walk a few feet and sit again.

Well, Derek wasn’t about to just be letting someone wander around his yard. Especially when they could be walking all over his sister’s grave.

So the young man struggled out from under the covers, shrugging into his boots and jacket, and stomping down the stairs to the back door. Once he rubbed sleep out of his eyes and flipped on the backlight, he could see exactly who is was that was messing around in his yard, and it was literally the last person he had expected.

Jackson was sitting in the snow, bare-chested and barefoot, with only a pair of soaked through boxers on his body. Even from here, Derek could see that he was shivering, and there seemed to be a pale, almost blue tint to his skin that could only mean something very dangerous.

Jackson hadn’t noticed him yet; he was too busy trying to heap small piles of snow onto his bare arms and legs, flinching every time the substance touched him and clearly gritting his teeth as the snow melted from his body heat.

From what Derek could see, it looked like he had been out there for quite some time.

The sliding glass door snapped open, and Jackson’s head whipped up, freezing in place when he spotted Derek.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?”

Jackson said nothing, just sat there in the snow, surprise hardening into frustration and determination, and not a little bit of fear.

He should be afraid; Derek couldn’t remember the last time he was this angry, and it showed when his claws came out, his teeth bared in a growl as he strode outside, grabbed Jackson by his upper arm and dragged him back into the house. Jackson’s protests were lost in the haze of red clouding Derek’s hearing and vision.

He immediately took off his jacket and wrapped it around Jackson’s shoulders, which Derek could now see were shaking so badly that Jackson couldn’t even control it, no matter how hard he was clearly trying to. The snarl escaped Derek’s throat before he could stop it, and Jackson flinched backwards.

Derek then stripped Jackson’s boxers off, ignoring the blush that tried to climb over Jackson’s neck and face, and picked the boy up, holding him close to his chest. He stormed up the stairs, breathing hotly and wetly on any part of Jackson’s skin that he could reach, and kicked open the door to the bedroom.

It was only another minute before he had Jackson wrapped in as many fuzzy and warm blankets as he could find, and was warming heating packs to place at the integral joints and intersections of his body.

Every once in a while Jackson would attempt to get up, or to say something, but was stopped short by a deadly look from Derek, or a low rumbling in the older man’s chest that clearly brooked no argument.

The next thing that Derek could bring himself to say without shouting was, “Stay there. Don’t move. I’m getting you something to drink. Don’t. Move.”

When he was back upstairs with a steaming cup of hot chocolate, he thought that he might be able to have a conversation without ripping Jackson’s head off. Maybe. Possibly. But he was going to try.

A few sips into the drink, teeth still chattering, Jackson managed to meet Derek’s gaze without immediately looking away.

“What were you doing.” It wasn’t a question, it was a low, hard statement. And Jackson didn’t answer it.

“Jackson. What. Were you. Doing.”

“Testing,” Jackson bit off quickly, pulling the hot chocolate up to his mouth again.

“Testing _what_?”

“Myself,”

Derek really should be awarded some kind of medal for not losing his cool here. “Even werewolves have limits you know. We aren’t fucking invincible. Were you trying to kill yourself?”

Jackson’s body gave an involuntary shudder and Derek reached out to grab the mug before the boy spilled hot chocolate all over himself. Instinctively, the younger boy huddled more deeply into the mountain of blankets around him, clenching his jaw and sniffing. An iron band of fear seemed to wrap around Derek’s chest, making it impossible to breathe.

“What were you thinking, Jackson?”

It must have been the softness in his voice that broke something, because Jackson’s spine slackened and he began to breathe hotly into his hands, rubbing every part of his body that he could reach, allowing his eyebrows to come together in a frown. “I needed to be better.”

“To the point where you’re purposefully endangering yourself for no reason?”

No answer.

Derek would have sighed if he ever did anything as silly as sighing. “Is this you trying to prove yourself? That you have to be the best at everything, and by a ridiculous margin?”

Still no answer. Derek was beginning to feel the iron tighten around his lungs. “No one is superman. I bleed too.”

He dug his claws into the meat of his thigh for just a moment, but hard enough that he winced from the pain, and drew his hand back to show Jackson the tiny specks of red flecking the claws.

“It hurts just as much,”

Jackson’s eyes were wide as he looked back and forth from the bloodied claw tips to the already healing wound in Derek’s thigh. And Derek thought, this is as close as we’re gonna get.

\---

Jackson had pneumonia for the next couple of weeks. Everyone came to see him tucked into bed, layers over his body, surrounded by heat and warmth, with a brooding Derek curled around him, watching every movement like a hawk.

Scott and Stiles came together, leaving small, badly wrapped presents on the bedside table along with snide comments about Derek being a good mother and Jackson just the most lovely patient. Erica, Isaac and Boyd all tumbled in one afternoon when school was over, and threw themselves onto the bed, cuddling up until Derek shooed them all away with a warning of “contagious”. Allison and Lydia made it very clear that they were upset with him, and showed it by making him soup, tucking the covers around him more tightly and gently brushing the sweat off of his brow.

The whole time, Derek didn’t leave his side, lying on the bed with him, waving off concerns about his own health and the possibility of contracting the sickness himself.

He woke up once, very early in the morning, when the birds were just beginning to wake up, and found his body wrapped protectively around Jackson’s, arm over his waist and holding him close. And he thought to himself, this isn’t so bad.

I could do this.


	4. Warmth.

Stiles/Erica; warmth. Rated PG.

\---

It’s one of his favorite things to do. Wrap his arms around her from behind, nuzzle into her neck and hair, place soft kisses on her skin. Allow the aroma of cooking to waft around him, eyes following her deft movements as she mixes, pours, and flips.

“Well look who’s awake,” Erica said to him, trying to meet his gaze without turning her head too far.

Stiles smiled and tightened his hold on her waist, causing a breathless laugh to escape her. “I smelled something delicious for breakfast and my stomach just wouldn’t let me go back to sleep.”

The two of them watched one of the pancakes sizzle and start to bubble. Erica quickly and easily slid her spatula underneath and flipped it, watching the mix rise and bake.

Stiles loved all the little traditions that the two of them had come up with over the couple of years they had been together; tradition and stability was something that he missed in his life, and having someone to snuggle with in the midst of that stability was the icing on the cake.

It had been a freezing cold winter morning by Californian standards, and it had taken the extremely loud rumbling of Stiles’ stomach to finally get the couple out from under the covers. He made one half-hearted attempt at getting dressed, but balked when the cold air touched his bare skin. Erica merely wrapped herself in the fuzziest robe she could find (his), and wriggled into a pair of slippers before making her way downstairs.

Stiles felt a little silly wearing a pink and purple bathrobe, but teasing he could take; cold weather was another story.

By the time he had followed his girlfriend downstairs, Erica had already gotten out all the ingredients for pancakes and was pattering her way around the kitchen looking for where they had put all of the big mixing bowls.

“Pancakes are the best cold weather food,” she told him when she spotted him standing in the doorway. “My mom used to make them whenever it got below fifty degrees,” a giggle, and Stiles’ heart lurched. “Come make some with me.”

The young man moved forward but didn’t pick up anything that could be construed as helpful. “I can’t make food,” he told her. “That’s why my family always went out to dinner. Did I ever tell you about that time I burned mac ‘n’ cheese?”

“Well then, come watch. I’ll teach you.”

So he watched over her shoulder as she cracked eggs, measured flour, added milk. Eventually his chin sunk down until it was resting at the curve of her neck, and his arms somehow found themselves twined around her body, fingers interlacing by her stomach. She turned and kissed him quickly while the pancakes were cooking, and had to push him off of her when she heard sizzling coming from the pan.

“You’ll make me burn them!” Erica said, laughing. “And I’ve never burnt any food in my life.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that.”

She smacked him with the handle of the spatula. He just grinned and kissed her again.

Now, every time they woke up and it was too cold for them to want to crawl out from under the covers, the two of them bundled up to face the weather and cooked themselves a heap of fluffy pancakes, always in their pajamas. Stiles usually curled up under a blanket on the couch, and when Erica brought the plate of pancakes with a side of maple syrup, butter and big glasses of orange juice, he would wait for her to place them on the coffee table before grabbing her around the middle and sit her in between his legs.

A morning of cartoons and laziness usually followed, with one or both of them complaining about the temperature every time they had the misfortune of moving so that one of their limbs was sticking out from under all the layers. Phones were left unanswered, bodies undressed and dishes dirtied so that they could have what Stiles like to call “a snuggle fest”.

The term made Erica think of euphemisms for orgies. She didn’t have the heart to tell him.


	5. Gift

Derek/Erica; gift. Rated PG.

\---

Unfortunately, there is no other car that is available for use. Her parents flat out refused to give them their cars for practice (even though they’re much older and not nearly as nice as his), and Stiles’ jeep is standard shift, which he wouldn’t wish on anyone trying to learn how to drive for the first time.

Then again, he didn’t think he would wish Erica on anyone’s car either.

“Eee!” was the squeal that came out of her mouth as she slammed on the brakes, her brown eyes wide. She glanced over at Derek who was white-knuckling the dashboard of his very nice, very expensive car.

“Just ease on the brakes…” Derek said when he managed to unclench his jaw. “If you start soon enough, you’ll glide to a stop instead of jerking to one and looking like an idiot.”

Erica pouted at him, shifting her right foot and lurching forward once more. Her eyebrows were drawn together, teeth biting her bottom lip as she concentrated, and Derek might have actually allowed himself to think it was adorable if he wasn’t so concerned for his and everyone else’s safety.

“If I hit it lightly, it doesn’t do anything!” Erica complained as they evened out into an almost steady thirty miles an hour down the suburban street. “But if I hit it harder, it’s too strong,”

Derek grimaced. “It’s a sensitive car,” he tried to explain, wincing as the blonde girl narrowly managed to avoid driving up on the curve. “You have to learn how it works… here, pull over.”

“But we just barely started driving!”

“Pull over _now_.”

She did so, forgetting her turn signal and throwing the car into park almost before it has stopped moving, causing a really nasty grinding of the gears. It sounded like death to Derek’s ears.

He turned to face her in the passenger seat. “Calm down Erica. Loosen your grip on the steering wheel. That will make it so you don’t jerk around curves and corners. I don’t care how long it takes you, don’t switch gears until you’ve stopped moving, even if you’re in the middle of the street. And take your shoes off.”

At that she gave him an incredulous stare, unconsciously fingering the heel of one of her shoes. “Why do I need to take my shoes off?”

It was all he could do not to roll his eyes at her. He might not have fully succeeded. “It was stupid of you to wear high heels to go driving anyway. And trust me; take your shoes off, it will help.”

Grudgingly, Erica listened to him, throwing her leopard print heels into the back seat of the car. Derek’s eyes followed them, and he caught himself thinking about how much he liked it when she wore that pair before shaking himself back to reality. When someone else was driving his car was not a time for him to lose focus.

“Now, start driving again. _Use your turn signal and check your mirrors before you pull out Erica_.”

She did so, gliding much more smoothly back out in to the lane. She looked almost as shocked as Derek felt, although he was never going to show her that. He somehow convinced himself to leave his hands in his lap.

“How did I do that?” Erica asked, speeding up gently as they went.

“When you’re barefoot it’s easier to feel when the car catches,” Derek tried to explain. “You’re going to have to drive like this for a while if we’re using my car to learn.”

Erica seemed so excited that she was driving somewhat decently that she didn’t even complain about being barefoot.

They pulled up next to her house, Derek explaining as they slowed down, “When you take your foot off the accelerator, it’s still going to move forward for a while. You don’t have to switch so quickly to the brake.”

The car pulled cleanly into a stop, and Erica put it in park. “I did it!” she exclaimed, bright grin flashing. Derek couldn’t help but grin and nod back at her.

“Thank you,” she said to him, eyes softer than he had seen them in a while. “Maybe now I’ll actually be able to get my license.”

Before Derek could answer with something sarcastic and somewhat scathing, she leaned in and pecked him on the lips, then hopped out of the car and ran up to her front door without looking back at him. Derek sat in the passenger seat for another minute, head working to catch up to the present.

When he did finally shake himself out of his daze, he jumped out of the car and proceeded with the most thorough, intense examination of his car that he had ever done before. Just because she was cute didn’t mean she could get away with hurting his baby.

Before he was finished searching every surface for a scratch or dent, Erica was back next to him, blushing just a little, but grinning with something slightly wicked behind her eyes.

“I forgot my shoes,” she told him, and then stood on her toes to lean up and kiss him fully on the mouth, biting his bottom lip and nipping at his tongue as she went. Derek hardly had time to respond before she pulled away, grabbing her shoes out of the backseat and smiling at him.

“Much better,” she said.


	6. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek/Stiles; fire. Rated T.

Stiles is a lot of things, but patient is not one of them, especially when he’s waiting on someone else. He can research, translate, and compile essays of information on his own quite easily, and as long as he gets the results fast enough, he doesn’t complain.

This has proved to be a problem recently, since Derek needs a lot of patience. Stiles doesn’t exactly know how to approach it.

He’s a little bit nervous with how this whole ‘being patient and helping to try and fix things’ plan is going to go. Usually with Scott, he snarked at him until things got better or Scott realized how stupid he was being. Every time he snarks at Derek, he gets slapped over the head.

The door slammed, and Stiles turned from where he was kneeling on the ground. “Derek?” he called, wiping his clammy hands on his pants.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he sounded really tired, but pleased. “My betas have been getting a little more capable of kicking my ass. I’m starting to think they might actually be improving.”

He stopped short when he turned the corner, staring at where Stiles was next to the fireplace. “Put that out, Stiles.” When Stiles said nothing, Derek leaned forward, growling in his ear, but his eyes never left the dancing, flickering flames behind him. “Put the fire out.”

“Derek, come on, it’s winter, it’s like fifty degrees out, I’m going to die if I don’t keep warm.”

The thing is, patience was never one of Derek’s strong suits either. He brushed right by Stiles, opening the grate and heading right for the flames, with no plan and no idea what he was going to actually do. It was only Stiles jumping on his back and wrapping flailing limbs around his boyfriend that stopped him from reaching his bare hands into the fire.

“Derek, stop! Stop, I’m not stupid, I did this for a reason, alright?”

“And would that reason be pissing me off? Because it’s working, Stiles.”

Derek stumbled under Stiles’ weight, and the two of them went crashing, albeit quite slowly, to the ground in front of the fireplace. Somehow Stiles managed to twist so that he was half lying, half crouching on top of the werewolf, hands on either side of his face. Derek’s glare was almost as nice and warm as the fire next to them.

“Listen, I know that you don’t want to talk about it, especially because when you told me you were basking in afterglow in the middle of the night, but if you’re ever going to get over this fire thing, you’re going to have to replace the bad memories with good ones. Right?”

Derek stopped struggling, and Stiles patted him gently on the cheek, rubbing his palm against the five o’clock shadow that his boyfriend always seemed to have. “Yeah? Okay?”

Derek didn’t protest or argue, so Stiles thought that might be a win for him.

\---

Stiles wasn’t used to being cheesy, but he wasn’t used to being in many relationships anyway, so he supposed that any mishaps or mistakes could be overlooked. He wasn’t exactly sure how Derek was going to react to this tactic of this, though.

Speaking of which, Derek entered the room with a towel slung low around his waist, and Stiles paused momentarily to drool a little bit over the very nice abdominal muscles his boyfriend was sporting and the wet, tousled hair.

“Candles,” it wasn’t a question, and his strong voice faltered somewhat, along with his footsteps.

“Yes, candles,” Stiles agreed, putting the lighter back in the drawer of the bedside table.

“Stiles…”

“Derek, this is going to be part of your new therapy plan. We’re replacing your negative connotations of fire with positive ones. So candles, when he have sex.”

That last word seemed to perk up Derek’s ears, and he couldn’t stop a grin from worming its way across his face. “Sex? You set up candles so that we could have romantic sex?”

Stiles could feel color rising in his cheeks. “Well, I didn’t think about it that way.”

In a second, Derek had scooped Stiles up and dumped him on the bed, leaning over him with hungry eyes. “I could go for that I think, Stiles,” he said, before leaning down to kiss the boy.

\---

“A bonfire seems a little tactless, doesn’t it?”

Stiles frowned and shrugged. “It’s all part of the plan, Allison. Don’t worry, I’ve got this whole thing covered.”

Allison shifted in the passenger seat to look at him as he drove. “What is up with you lately? You’ve been all weird and gentle with Derek, like he’s going to break or something. But now you’re bringing him to things that will probably upset him?”

Stiles smiled. “You definitely care more than anyone else who’s noticed. Seriously, I’m taking care of it. I’ll let you know if I need help.”

“You’d better,” Allison grouched at him. “I don’t want another one month anniversary debacle, alright?”

Stiles winced. “You know, there’s really no need to keep bringing that up, alright? It was one time. One time.”

\---

He was tense, Stiles could see that. Muscles clenched, hands wrapped around his mug of coffee, eyes averted to the ground as though the dirt was the most interesting thing he had ever seen.

Stiles leaned over and put a hand over Derek’s. “Hey. Breathe.”

A loud breath was huffed out of Derek’s nose, and he managed to raise his gaze so that he met his boyfriend’s eyes. He looked vulnerable, like Stiles was a lifeline. It made his heart jump.

“Look, look around. See Allison over there? She’s pretending like she doesn’t care, but whenever she thinks no one is looking she fixes her headband. And Lydia is leaning on Isaac’s shoulder—it looks like she might have spiked her hot cider, and Isaac thinks it’s hilarious. Her tolerance seems to have gone down since she told everyone she was 'taking a break'. Scott and Erica are having a marshmallow toasting contest. I think they both want to get that perfect gold look. Scott’s really bad at it, he keeps burning them. I’m incredibly ashamed, I thought I’d taught him better. Boyd cannot for the life of him understand how to put together a s’more, and Allison is being really OCD about how much chocolate he’s allowed to put on it.”

Deep breaths, loosening muscles. Stiles smiled gently at Derek. “We’re having fun. We want you to have fun too.”

And Derek did something that he never did in public—he leaned over, and planted a kiss on Stiles’ lips.


	7. Reindeer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erica/Boyd. Rated PG.

Boyd had spent his entire high school career so far in the background, blending in to the scenery. He never wanted anything more than to just get by, and make it through the ‘best years of his life’ without anything supremely terrible happening to him. 

When Derek offered him the chance of a lifetime, a side of high school was opened up to him that he had never even considered: being noticed, having a reputation other than scary, having people know his name and who he hung out with, and that he had a very stylish sense of fashion.

So, now he had some kind of cool factor, and it was only building the longer he continued with his new lifestyle. And he really didn’t want to jeopardize that by doing anything silly.

Erica was determined to make that very difficult.

She had approached the entire situation quite differently from Boyd; now that she had the attention of the school, she didn’t seem to care what anybody thought of her—the blonde constantly made offhand comments about stealing people’s boyfriends, wondering what sex in school would be like, buying lingerie and wearing it as clothes in to school. Every mention of her with the words ‘bitch’, or ‘slut’ or ‘whore’ or even ‘freak’ only seemed to make her smirk, spur on her actions with vigor.

Sometimes her devil-may-care attitude was directed into things that were cute and adorable and oh so sixteen-year-old girl, which for Boyd was much worse than when she interrupted someone’s relationship. And that was because when she was in her cute, adorable, I love being a girl mode, she did her utmost to include Boyd.

And while someone might look at Erica wearing a headband of reindeer antlers around school during the holiday season and not have a second thought about it, Boyd was over six feet tall, very heavily muscled, intimidating, and so very unwilling to give up his recently earned cool status for a pair of reindeer antlers.

Even though when Erica was asking him, her face was glowing and her hair was shining like sunlight and she looked happier than he had seen her in a long time.

Even then.

“Boyd, please, just this one day with me, please how cute would that be?”

“Erica, I’d be laughed at. A lot. I don’t think you understand.”

“I understand that you don’t want to wear antlers with me, even though I’m asking you very nicely and we could take pictures together and it’s totally in the spirit of the holidays.”

Boyd grimaced. “Where did you even get those?”

Erica’s eyes shone. “From my house! My family always wore them on Christmas to open our presents you know.” She giggled. “I thought my other family should get to wear them too!"

Oh god, she was going into the ‘pack is family, pack is more than family’ mode, and that was impossible to say no to. It had been impossible for Derek to say no when Erica had asked him to drive her to school in the mornings. It had been impossible when Isaac had been coerced into babysitting children at an after school program. And it was going to be impossible now.

Without another word, Boyd took the antlers and placed them on his head. Erica immediately grabbed her phone and began taking pictures of them, from this angle, that angle, solo and together. Boyd was pretty sure that in every picture his face was exactly the same.

Thoroughly unamused.


	8. Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott/Isaac. Rated G.

Scott honestly didn’t understand why they had been given the task of bringing the cookies to the party. Lydia hadn’t been helpful when she had told him over the phone, either.

_“We’re having a Christmas party for everyone at my house, and since I’m going to be doing most of the work, I’m assigning everyone else to bring the refreshments.”_

“Assigning? What do you mean? And what are you talking about, you’re going to be doing all the work, all you have to do is provide the house!”

_“I’m just going to let you know that I wasn’t paying attention to anything you just said. So, you and Isaac are going to bring the cookies. I want a majority of sugar cookies and gingerbread, and only half as much that have any kind of chocolate in them—it will make everyone break out.”_

“Lydia, you do know that I’ve never made cookies in my life right? And I’m pretty sure Isaac doesn’t even know the difference between cookies except for he likes some and he doesn’t like others.”

_“Perfect. So be there at eight, and make sure that the cookies are still warm, no one wants to eat cookies that aren’t slightly gooey.”_

“Can’t we just bring the soda or something? We’d be much better at going out and buying bottles of soda.”

_“Thanks Scott, you’re the best. Tell Isaac to keep his hair curly for the party, it’s much more attractive that way. And none of those frozen or boxed cookie recipes! I want these homemade.”_

So here they were, standing in the kitchen, staring at ingredients on the counter, wondering why on earth they were assigned to do something so terrible.

“It’s like staring into the depths of the sun.”

“Or Mordor,” Scott supplied.

Silence reigned for another minute. It was Isaac who finally moved, not being the kind of person to let something as stupid as eggs and flour defeat him. Scott followed more hesitantly, contemplating the possible tortures Lydia might conceive if they didn’t do the cookies ‘just so’.

Elbows deep in flour, water on the floor and several broken eggs later, Scott was having much more fun than he thought he would be, and Isaac couldn’t go five minutes without exclaiming that this was the most difficult thing he had ever had to do. Like, ever.

“Seriously, how do people even have time to do this Scott, I don’t understand. It’s so messy and sticky and no one even likes sugar cookies anyway.”

“Yeah but Queen Lydia wants them,” Scott replied, rolling a bit of dough between his palms to try and get it into a circular shape. “And what Lydia wants, Lydia gets.”

“Well it’s taking forever.”

Scott glanced at Isaac out of the corner of his eye. His brows were furrowed, nose crinkled in that cute way that he had, and his lips were twisted into a scowl. “Why does it matter?”

“We’ve got to do it well, they have to come out well?”

“Why? Lydia wants that, but I doubt she expects it. I bet she just wanted to find some way of making our lives even more miserable than they usually are."

“Yeah, well, I want them to be good too.”

Scott didn’t push it, because Isaac was getting that look on his face like he did when he remembered how much his dad scared him, and then how much he loved his dad, and that was never a good look on him.

There had only been a few times that Isaac had talked about his father around Scott, and most of them occurred between the sheets, in the slow lull of before-sleep twilight, or the half-crazed morning sun after a full night without sleep. Usually Scott held him, and stared at the ceiling, and wished that he could fully hate the man without feeling guilty because Isaac still loved him.

Isaac rarely cried when these little tidbits of information were given, but he was very quiet and withdrawn for hours afterward, and Scott had had to learn how to give him his space.

But this was the early evening, in the middle of the warm kitchen, and Scott couldn’t very well wrap his arms around the taller boy and bundle him to the floor where they would lie silently in the puddles of water for a few hours.

So he did the first thing that came to his mind; he flicked the flour on his fingers into Isaac’s face.

He froze, blinking the white dust out of his eyelashes, and for a moment Scott thought that he had done exactly the wrong thing. But Isaac slowly turned to him, a grin curling his lips, and said, “Oh Scott, are you sure you want to get yourself into this?" 

“Bring it on, flour boy.”

They ended up being very late to Lydia’s party. She was not happy that the cookies weren’t gooey.


	9. Frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison/Erica. Rated PG.

Erica tends to be the dominant one in the relationship; she loves being the big spoon, has the most fun when she’s on top, and must have her thumb on the outside while holding hands. The control is comforting in some way.

However, every once in a while, Erica will remember that she’s a sixteen-year-old girl, and Allison is fully capable of taking the reins. This appears to be one of those times, and Erica can’t say she’s complaining.

The blonde is currently tucked in underneath several layers of hand-knitted and fuzzy blankets pulled up to her chin, and is watching her girlfriend fumble around with a box underneath the television.

“What are you looking for?”

In an answer, Allison holds up an old, well-worn plastic box.

“Are we seriously going to watch something on a video tape?”

“It’s not just any VHS, it’s Fantasia!” Allison exclaims, popping the video into the player. “And you can’t watch Fantasia on DVD it’s just not the same.”

“But the quality—“

“You wouldn’t understand!”

Erica shuts up with a smile. It really is adorable when Allison gets involved in something so trivial—the girl had a few things where the ‘process’ must be followed at all costs, no exceptions, and it was always cute to watch her do it.

The movie crackled to life, with lines of static strolling leisurely across the screen every once in a while, and having a high-pitched, annoying hum constantly playing in the background.

“Those are previews… ‘coming soon to video’ _oh my god Allison_ …”

The girl merely chuckled and inserted herself behind Erica, so that she was sitting with her limbs wrapped around her. “I can’t believe you’ve never seen Fantasia…” she said into Erica’s ear, causing a shiver to go snaking down her spine. Allison smiled and kissed the side of her head, settling down to watch the video.

Erica didn’t remember falling asleep—but when she woke up, there were very tiny, very blue, and very naked fairies dancing across the screen, and Allison was combing her fingers through her hair.

“Am I dreaming?” Erica mumbles, struggling to get back up into a sitting position. Allison puts her hands on Erica’s shoulders to quiet her, and tucks her in more tightly. “I see naked ladies making frost on some leaves.”

“Nope. Disney was giving us all a treat. Gorgeous music, gorgeous naked animated women…”

A sleep-layered laugh escapes Erica’s throat, and she somehow manages to crane her head around so that she could meet Allison’s eyes, and found the older girl smiling down at her, humming along with the music.

“I like this lady better when she’s naked,” comments Erica, and Allison grins at her.

“The feeling is mutual my dear,”

But when Erica attempts to sit up and stir up a little heat, Allison forces her back down under the covers. “Hey, hey, hey. Not in front of Fantasia. This movie is my childhood.”

She left the girl with a chaste peck on the lips, and Erica decides that she isn’t as big of a fan of this movie as she thought she might be, despite all the blue, naked ladies.


	10. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison/Lydia. Rated PG.

Lydia had always been a big fan of winter. Winter brings shorter days, longer nights, clearer skies and more visible stars. Warm drinks come back into style, and fires are always crackling in people’s houses.

But her favorite part of winter was the clothes. Cute hats, warm gloves, soft jackets to wear. Thick knitted tights and boots up to the knee. Wool skirts and lots of layers, not to mention the rosy cheeks that give everyone a permanently cherubic look.

Allison, on the other hand, hated winter. She hated less daylight and time to do things. She hated the way everything looked dead, and how the air nipped at everyone’s noses. She couldn’t stand how tired she always was, and most of all, Allison hated to be cold.

It seemed like no matter how many layers she put on, how briskly she walked to warm herself up, how many people draped themselves over her like scarves, Allison could never be at a normal temperature.

So when Lydia showed up at her doorstep with one hand full of movies and the other holding popcorn, she knew she would be welcomed in with open arms.

As she delicately kicked off her shoes, the redhead looked around from underneath her eyelashes. “So where’s Mr. Argent?” she asked as casually as possible.

Before Allison could answer, the man himself poked his head around a corner. “Hello Lydia,” he said. “Come to lift my daughter’s spirits?”

“In the best way I know how,” Lydia responded, holding up what she had in her hands and shaking them for emphasis.

“You know, whenever you come over my dad retreats to his office in the basement, and doesn’t come out for hours.” Allison commented, hanging up Lydia’s coat and taking the girl’s arm.

“Well good. He knows that we aren’t just going to be sitting talking about the cinematography of the films we watch.”

Warmth shot through Allison’s body at that, spreading to the tips of her fingers and building in her stomach. Lydia seemed to noticing the tightening of her girlfriend’s grip on her sleeve, and she stood on her tiptoes to reach Allison’s ear.

“Baby, I really want you to… go make the popcorn.”

“You’re just a tease,” Allison complained, taking the bag from Lydia’s well-manicured fingers and stalking off into the kitchen. The girl’s laugh followed her as Lydia pranced into the family room, deftly switching the television to DVD mode and putting in the first movie, before settling herself comfortably under her favorite blanket. Allison had knitted it herself; a pattern of zig-zagged white and blue, a little rough to the touch but still the warmest thing in the house.

Sure enough, just as Allison was returning with a bowl full of popcorn, Lydia heard the telltale footsteps of Mr. Argent making his way down the stairs to the basement, and an audible slamming of the door.

Lydia always equated it to: _I’m gone now; you can do what you want._

Eating one piece of popcorn at a time, Lydia snuggled up with Allison, slowly sliding down until the back of her head was resting just above the brunette’s hips, and she could easily turn herself around to face her.

“Hey,” giggled Allison, “this doesn’t count as watching a movie,”

“But I can feel you shivering. I’m going to warm you up the best way I know how, just like I told your dad.”

Neither of them ever saw the end of Cabin in the Woods. They weren’t all that interested in it anyway.


	11. Christmas Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles/Allison. Rated PG.

If she was honest with herself, she was getting a little tired of this.

She had known that Stiles has high standards with pretty much everything, especially himself. And she had known that between the two of them, it was probably going to be a much longer, more intense outing that usual.

But three hours had passed, she was out of her hot chocolate, snowflakes were beginning to freeze to her eyelashes, and she was bored.

“Stiles, you do realize that we aren’t going to be able to _fit_ that tree into our den, right?”

The young man took a step back and frowned at the towering pine he had just been examining, stamping his booted feet in the packed snow to warm up.

Allison slipped her hand into his, squeezing. “What exactly are you looking for? Maybe if you told me, I could help you find it. And then we could go home and watch the Christmas movie marathons on T.V.”

Stiles huffed out a breath of white, and leaned his head onto the top of hers. “I want our first Christmas tree to be perfect,” he said. “Tall enough, wide enough, evenly balanced needles on all sides…”

“Well, we could always go buy a fake tree from a store—it’s better for the environment, and we can reuse it again each year, so—“

Allison didn’t even get to finish her reasoning, because the look on Stiles’s face was enough to bring her to a halt.

“A _fake tree_? Who do you think we are? How can we sit around a fire with the smell of pine floating around us, opening presents, with a _fake tree_ , Allison?”

And she couldn’t help but laugh, because even as he annoyed her, he was still trying to be sweet. “I don’t think we’re going to find a perfect tree sweetheart. I don’t know if perfect trees even exist.”

“But it’s our first Christmas together, living in the same apartment, and I want it to be perfect.”

The only response Allison could come up with to that absurd and adorable statement was to turn and plant a kiss on his lips. When she pulled away, Stiles was standing with his mouth slightly open, eyes wide.

“What?” Allison asked a little defensively.

“You kissed me.”

“Well we are dating, and have been for quite some time, so I assumed that it would be okay… correct me if I’m wrong…”

That seemed to shake him out of his daze, and he grinned at her. Before she could blink she was pushed up against the bark of a tree, needles scratching at her cheeks, and Stiles’s warm mouth over hers.

She ignored the roughness of the bark, and the awkward way that the branches made her reach around them so that she could grasp his hair and the base of his neck. Allison surged up on her toes, pressing her lips harder onto his, eliciting something of a surprised chuckle from Stiles.

It wasn’t until she was out of breath that she pulled away from him, eyes bright and cheeks rosy, and felt a smile on her face. “What was that for?”

Stiles picked her up and carried her a few steps back and out of the thicket of green pine needles. “For putting up with me and the fact that it’s taking me hours to find a tree that meets my standards.”

Allison giggled and managed to wrap her legs around his waist, kissing him fully on the mouth again. Without looking away from his expression, she said, “You know, I think I like that tree," 

Stiles glanced around her at the tree that they had been pressed up against. “I could settle for that tree,” he told her. “It contains memories now.”

Allison could feel the chill being chased out by the rush of warmth his words brought. “And we wouldn’t want those memories haunting some other family, would we?”

He laughed and set her back on her feet, straightening her jacket and setting her hat on her head at a jaunty angle. “I’d watch us.”

She rolled her eyes and fit her hand back into his, pulling him back towards the car. “Come on, let’s go pay for the thing and strap it on; I want to get home and watch those old Christmas movie marathons. I wasn’t kidding.”


	12. Snowman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter/Lydia. Rated T.

Lydia tends to aimlessly draw designs in the snow while waiting for Prada to finish her business. She sits on her back step and doodles, trying to take advantage of the only snow they will probably have in Beacon Hills in the next ten years. She can even see the tips of the grass poking through in some parts of the yard, but snow was snow, and she was going to make the most of it.

_Don’t count on it sticking around sweetheart._

Ice crept down her spine, and Lydia whirled around, but couldn’t see him anywhere. He was there though. She could feel his presence gliding across her skin, hear his breath in her ears, the prickling of the hairs on her neck standing up.

“Since when have you been able to hear my thoughts?”

_Since I only exist in your head. I have roommates in here. Loud ones._

Lydia curled in on herself, huddling down in her sweater and staring at the laces of her boots, not thinking about Prada, not thinking about the snow, not thinking about anything except him, him, _him._

_Am I crazy? Please don’t let me be crazy. I can’t be crazy, I can’t._

“Please stop…” whispered Lydia, her nails digging little crescent-shaped scratches into her legs.

_I think I’m losing my mind. What if I’m losing my mind?_

A hand ghosts across her back and she jumps, but merely buries her head farther into her arms, telling herself to breathe in, breathe out, breathe in and breathe out Lydia.

_You know how to get it to stop._

“I don’t know how,” she told him, voice muffled.

_You’ll figure it out. I trust you; you’re a smart girl. Because if you don’t, we’ll be constant companions. And as much as I’d enjoy that, I don’t know if you would._

“What am I supposed to do though?”

Laughter. Foot steps. Oh god, he was coming closer, and even if he was just in her head, he moves things, he touches things, he hurts her, hurts her, _hurts her_ —

Prada is licking her face when her eyes open, lapping at the tears that she didn’t know she had been crying. Her face was cold and her fingers stiff. When she glanced down at them, they had a thin layer of snow coating the gloves.

And to her left, a tiny smiling snowman, holding a purple flower.


	13. Sweater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson/Allison. Rated NC-17.

Jackson has always appreciated how Allison dresses when she goes to bed; usually a giant t-shirt that falls down to mid-thigh or so, and a cute pair of underwear, with the occasional big, fluffy socks adorning her feet. And he would never tell her, but he thinks it’s all absolutely adorable.

But that morning, when he came back from the gym and poured himself a cup of coffee, Allison sauntered into the kitchen wearing one of his gray hoodies, rubbing sleep from her eyes. As she lifted her arms and the fabric shifted upwards, his eyes dropped down, and he nearly lost his grip on the mug he was holding.

“Morning,” Allison yawned, moving farther into the room and smiling at him. Jackson was having none of that though; he calmly placed his coffee on the counter, looked up, and pinned her to the nearest counter.

“Is this a present for me?” he growled in her ear, hand slipping around to the front of her hips where she wasn’t wearing any panties. “Or did you just forget them today?”

From the husky chuckle he received, Jackson could picture exactly what Allison’s smirk looked like right now, and it made him tighten his grip on her, grinding his hips up against hers, pushing her even farther into the counter.

Allison managed to turn herself around in his grip, so that she could lift up onto her toes and bite at his bottom lip. “Come on Jackson,” she said, eyes lidded. “Wake me up?" 

That was all it took. In an instant his hands had found the back of her thighs, and she was sitting on the counter, legs spread so that Jackson could press himself between them, as close to her as possible.

His mouth was everywhere, sucking at her neck, licking up her jaw, nibbling on her earlobe and ravaging her lips. Allison sighed into it, skimming her palms up his biceps, along his shoulders and underneath the straps of his sweat-soaked wife beater, along the muscles in his neck and curling up in his hair.

Their mouths crashed together again and again, tongues exploring, teeth not afraid to nip and bite around each other. Jackson groaned into his girlfriend’s mouth as she scoots to the edge of the counter, rubbing up against his groin as she did. That wicked laugh escaped her again, and she moved her hips just _so_ and wow, Jackson always forgets exactly how damn good she is at this.

With a noise of irritation the hoodie was thrown on the floor, exposing all of Allison’s body to his wandering mouth, and he did not miss the chance to duck and mark a trail down her collarbone, planting a soft, lingering kiss at the hollow of her throat. Her hands tightened in his hair, and he smiled into her soft skin.

One hand loosened itself from his bruising grip of her hips and slithered its way up her waist, a trail of goose flesh appearing where he touched. His fingertips brushed over her nipple, and Allison instinctively arched into the touch while fastidiously working on leaving a mark on Jackson’s shoulder.

His one hand gently massaged her breast, while the other hand had an almost painful grip on the roots of her hair, tugging her head this way and that so his mouth can wet every inch of her neck. It sends shivers snaking down her spine, and a soft “mmm” is breathed when Jackson finally pinched her nipple, rolling it between his fingers.

When his hand finally leaves her curls, her scalp is tingling in the most delicious way, and it takes her a moment to realize that he’s ducked to take care of her other breast with his mouth, kissing and teasing her gently while roughly pulling on her other nipple. And just like that, he switched, and Allison’s nails dug into his back, her head dropping onto his shoulder, eyes closed tightly. When she felt teeth nibbling at her, she bit into his neck, groaning into him. “Fuck, Jackson… please.”

“Please what Allison?” he mumbled into her skin, trailing his tongue down the flat planes of her stomach, scratching his nails ever so gently over her waist as he move his hands back down to hold her hips steady.

By the time she looked up to meet his eyes, he was on his knees in between her legs, blue eyes staring up. She grabbed at his hair and growled, “Jackson, fuck me. Now.”

He seemed to be considering it for a moment, head tilted to the side, fingers tapping out a rhythm into her skin. “Hm… no.”

Before she had time to tell him how exactly _un_ -funny this entire thing was, Jackson moved in, breathing hotly on her skin, lifting her legs over his shoulders and causing Allison’s stomach to jump without her permission.

“You’re so wet already,” Jackson told her, and Allison’s head dropped back, her legs crossing behind his head to lock him in place. In response, Jackson dipped his head and licked her slowly, from bottom to top, lingering around her clit to suck and tease.

“Fuck, fuck, Jackson…” Allison breathed, losing her grip on the edge of the counter momentarily. She could _feel_ him smiling against her skin, and clenched when the unexpected pressure of his fingers were added to the mix.

Jackson slowly pumped one finger, licking in time, and added a second finger almost instantly, murmuring a “mmm” and “Allison you’re so fucking wet” that made her heart skip a beat.

Three fingers, and Allison’s words were starting to run together unintelligibly as Jackson twisted and curled his fingers, telling her how much he wanted her to cum, how much he wanted to taste her in his mouth, how much he needed her to finish, come on baby, come on, yes yes yes, you’re almost there Allison…

Her orgasm hit her in waves, and it was all that she could do to lean forward and put her full weight on Jackson’s shoulders. He was staring at her intensely, taking in every emotion in her face, every movement of her lips, fingers never stopping, keeping her on her high until she literally had to push him away to breathe.

She barely had a chance to settle her head before he was kissing her, and her tongue smoothed over his lips, his teeth, his tongue, tasting herself on him, finding that sensation more arousing than almost anything else.

But before she was quite done, Jackson pulled away, grinning at her.

“You still haven’t fucked me yet,” she pouted, and he laughed at her, which brought a blush to her cheeks.

“I need to take a shower to get all this sweat from the gym off of me.” His blue eyes were glittering. “Join me?”

Allison didn’t give it a second thought.


	14. Carols

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac/Erica/Jackson OT3. Rated T.

“No, it’s stupid.”

It hadn’t taken long for them to insert themselves into his life; they would sit next to him at lunch during school, call and text him about homework, lounge on his front steps after school until he would let them in because of just how pathetic they looked.

They used the weirdest tactics too. Erica seemed to have some sort of obsession with apples that she thought he shared, and would ask him about his favorite kind, or make bedroom eyes at him while she bit into one. Isaac would bring his lacrosse stick with him and inquire into the details of just how it should be tied, and what grip works the best in the context of a game, and could they possibly toss around a bit to practice?

And so Jackson found himself in the middle of some strange trio of people, and considering he wasn’t used to sharing his personal space or stuff with anyone outside of the context of ‘acquaintances’ he wasn’t exactly sure how to proceed. Usually he tried to ignore them, letting them sprawl across his couch while he did homework, or watch him as he played video games.

Soon, he realized that he was anticipating their visits in small ways. When buying snacks to stock his house with at the store, he would buy those disgusting fruit rollups that Isaac was so fond of. Or he would tell his parents when they left that he needed them to buy some extra apples, because Erica couldn’t seem to get enough of them.

His parents seemed to really enjoy having them in the house, which only made things ten times worse because he would hear Isaac talking to them on his front porch, that charming smile shining through his words, “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Whittemore! How are you?”

When he found himself driving to Erica’s house instead of his own after school because she hadn’t been there, he knew he was done. When her mother told him that she was sick and he found himself going up to check on her instead of just driving off, he knew he was beyond done. And when he texted Isaac to come over and join them as he kept her company, he knew he was lost forever.

So he wasn’t surprised when their three-way eventually became a three _some_ of tangled bodies, fights for dominance and lots of biting and scratching throughout.

But ensconced as he might be in this world of weirdness, Jackson still dragged his feet and resisted, because shit, sometimes it hit him that he was in some sort of polyamorous relationship with two werewolves and one of them was a guy.

Plus, this idea was stupid.

“Oh please Jackson!” Erica whined. She was smiling, that huge, cute I’m-an-adorable-little-girl smile and wearing a Christmas hat over her blonde curls. Isaac was in a hideous Christmas sweater, and only slightly less excited next to her.

“No, it’s California, why would we go caroling, there’s not even snow or anything.”

“Oh come on, I’ve heard you singing in the shower,” put in Isaac, leaning forward conspiratorially. “When you think no one’s listening.”

Stay cool, Jackson. “I don’t care, no one in this town ever goes caroling, we aren’t going to start now.”

“Where’s your holiday spirit? They give us hot chocolate and cookies if they like our singing,”

“I’m on a diet,” Jackson answered automatically, and then flinched because they always made fun of him whenever he brought it up.

The pout of Erica’s face could have made a grown man melt. “But Boyd is working today, and Derek said that he would rather listen to Stiles’s theory on how superheroes are created genetically than go with us,”

Jackson never thought that he and Derek would have much in common, but here he found himself agreeing with the ass. Which made him want to go caroling with them more than anything else the two had said to him previously.

“I hate you guys,” he finally muttered, which made Isaac whoop in delight and Erica lunge forward to give him a hug. Jackson turned to get his coat and shut the door behind him as the three of the trooped down his front steps.

Erica kissed him on the cheek. “You’re the best!”

“Yeah, yeah…” Jackson said, pulling his hood up. “Let’s just get this over quickly. And I refuse to sing anything that makes any mention of reindeers.”

The two of them laughed, and Isaac slung his arm around his shoulders, kissing him on his other cheek while Erica interlaced her fingers with his left hand. “Anything for you of course.”


	15. Sweets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles/Lydia. Rated NC-17.

Stiles is used to Lydia giving him a look that says something like “Wow, you’re a total moron aren’t you?” It stings much less now that she’s his girlfriend, and he knows that even if she gives him that look every five minutes over the course of an entire day, she will still fall asleep curled up against him, fingers interlaced with his.

So as she gives him that look right now, he can’t find it in himself to be offended. “Seriously Stiles? _Ice cream_? No one wants to eat ice cream in December. It’s too cold.”

“I like ice cream in December,” Stiles replies, pulling out all the ingredients needed to make a sundae. “Ice cream is the best dessert at all times, even in the winter.”

A wicked smile crosses her face, and Stiles feels his stomach do a clumsy flip-flopping motion. “There’s only one thing that I will do with ice cream in December, Stiles.”

And so Stiles finds himself lying on his back, Lydia’s tongue tracing the outlines of his muscles, following the drizzle of chocolate sauce lying on his skin. He can feel the goose bumps rising on his flesh, and the shivers that are doing their very best to snake their way down his spine. Glancing downwards, he watches Lydia’s tongue make a path, with sporadic kisses and nips to get the last of the sticky sweetness into her mouth.

“Lydia…” he groans, and she looks up, licking her lips and putting a finger to his own. 

“I said no talking.”

He clamps his jaw shut with a whine and stares at the ceiling, trying his utmost to keep his hands where he is lying on them, instead of grabbing Lydia and kissing her until he couldn’t breathe.

_No talking, no moving and no touching_ , Lydia had said, _or we’re done with this game. Those are the rules._

She knew exactly where to hit him too, because one of Stiles’ favorite things to do is keep his hands busy, on her skin, in her hair, making her moan and gasp, tugging on clothing and clasps. No talking, no touching, no moving… just passively receiving? It’s not something that he’s very good at.

He can’t help but flick his eyes back down when Lydia reaches the waistband of his boxers, nimble fingers pulling at it until they are down around his ankles, and she has one perfectly manicured hand around his erection.

He is so distracted that he doesn’t notice Lydia’s hand by his mouth until she slides a finger across his lips. Her pointer finger has a line of whipped cream on it, and she is offering it to him with a smirk.

“Now we both have something to suck on,” she tells him, and lowers her head to give him a firm lick from the bottom to the top of his cock. Stiles mimics the movement with his own tongue, trying his very best to focus on the treat on her finger so that he didn’t accidentally make noise or move his hips off the bed.

Eventually, however, Stiles lets his head fall back and closes his eyes tightly as Lydia works her magic. She bobs up and down on the head, hollowing her cheeks out for more suction, and moving her hand in time with her lips. She then gives the slit a hard lick, and takes as much of him into her throat as she can manage, which is almost all the way down to the base.

Stiles sucks in a breath and clenches his fists in the sheets, willing himself to keep his hips planted firmly against the mattress while Lydia begins to move up and down, flat of her tongue pressing against the backside of his dick as she pulls up and lips tightening and sucking as she leans back down.

The hand that used to have the whipped cream braces her body on one of his thighs while her other hand is in a ring, following her mouth’s movements through the trail slicked with spit.

It’s when his stomach muscles start to spasm and his hips involuntarily buck that Lydia stops, pressing a kiss to the tip before licking her lips clean and leaning back, smiling. Stiles can smell girl and sex, and is only more turned on when she reaches between her legs and offers him a taste, which he eagerly laps up.

“Good boy,” she whispers to him, smearing the last trace of herself across his mouth. “No talking or touching, remember, Stiles.”

With that she gracefully slips out of her panties that he can see are already quite wet, and tosses them to the floor.

It’s only another moment before Lydia is straddling his hips, kissing his shoulders, his collarbones, his chest and his abs. As she does, she slides her hips along the length of him, getting him slick. And if Stiles could just run his fingers through her beautiful strawberry blonde hair, things would be perfect.

He thinks that he literally won’t be able to take it anymore when she places a hot kiss on his lips and slides onto him slowly, pausing a moment when she finally has all of him inside of her.

It takes every ounce of his self-control not to begin bucking his hips into her, grabbing her waist and thrusting until they were both left in a quivering heap. Lydia waits for what seems like an eternity, watching his expression.

Stiles doesn’t move. 

“Oh, good boy,” she tells him again, leaning forward and bracing herself on his shoulders, shifting her hips so that she begins to move on him. “You’re being so good today Stiles. Now you can have your reward.”

Christ she’s good at this, Stiles reflects before thinking becomes a little more difficult than he would like to admit. Somehow, Lydia’s mouth ends up by his left ear, and she’s whispering things to him while she moves, keeping up a steady rhythm of their bodies.

There’s some sort of twisting, some sort of swiveling, circular motion that feels so damn good, and between the heat and sweat and panting movement of their bodies Stiles can feel the beginning of a coiled spring in his stomach, abs starting to clench and tense.

“You’re going to finish soon aren’t you? You deserve it; show me how good you feel.”

The smooth chocolate of her voice is what does it for him, more than anything else. Stiles doesn’t care how many times he’s heard her talking to him, the reality is better than anything his mind could have come up with in the years he pined after her, and it sends him over the edge.

When he’s finished, Lydia is lying on the bed next to him, tracing gentle circles with her fingernails into his skin. She is flushed and sweaty as well, with a smile twitching at the corners of her lips, but Stiles is upset to realize that she didn’t finish herself.

“It still felt good, don’t be stupid,” She tells him when he inquires about it. “This was about you anyway.”

“I thought it was about ice cream,” Stiles quips before he can stop himself, and then groans.

She just laughs at him, and it’s one of the most beautiful things he has ever heard. “I’m sure you’ll make it up to me later,” Lydia assures him. “You hardly got to have any of the sundae anyway.”


	16. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek/Lydia, rated PG.

Derek’s schedule has never really been what anyone would call ‘normal’. Without routines, plans, things that need to be done at certain times, his life fell into a non-pattern that suited him just fine. Wake up at four in the morning, push-ups, pull-ups, curl-ups, all the ‘ups’ you could think of. Then breakfast at seven, go back to bed. Or sometimes, wake up at one in the afternoon, slouch down to the car and go for a drive in his sweatpants, test the limits of his car up the mountainsides.

Most of the time, Lydia was fairly accepting of this. Since she was busy in school seven hours a day, and then homework afterwards, she didn’t have too much time to be bossing him around anyway.

Derek now found himself hating the idea of winter break that lead all the high schoolers to sleep and watch a lot of television and play a lot of video games and made Lydia Martin spend a lot of time in his rundown, dilapidated house.

Derek woke up to a shaking of his shoulders, and rolled over to see Lydia kneeling over him on the covers, fully dressed and with a slight frown pulling at the skin between her eyebrows. When she saw that his eyes were open, she bounced off the bed and over to the dresser, pawing through his clothes. Derek was barely awake enough to protest, so he just watched her for a moment before saying, “What are you doing here Lydia?”

She turned to look at him, pausing for a moment in her exploration to answer. “It’s ten in the morning Derek. You should be up already. Nine is generally agreed on as the latest that someone should sleep in the morning for them to be awake and have energy for the rest of the day.”

He groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. He was just drifting off into another blissful sleep when he felt a bundle of clothing being thrown at the back of his head. Lydia came next to the bed again, and this time dragged the covers off of him, revealing the bare skin on his back to the cool air.

“Hey,” Derek growled, sitting up and shaking his head to rid himself of the sleep fog. “It’s cold out.”

“That’s why you should get dressed,” she quipped at him, placing her hands on her hips and for all the world looking like an extremely disgruntled mother. “We have things that we have to do today, and I won’t let you waste any more of our time.”

Because there was no way that Derek was going to win this battle, he slowly started dragging the shirt she had picked out for him over his head and shoulders. “What things?” and his voice was resigned, even muffled as it was by the fabric.

“Scott told me that Isaac, Erica and Boyd went shopping for a Christmas tree for you, and set it up in your house this past weekend,” Lydia said, brightening considerably when she saw that he was no longer fighting her. “So today I brought some of the Christmas decorations left from my house and I figured we could make the tree look like an actual Christmas tree instead of a fir somehow growing out of the floor in the middle of your living room.”

Derek grunted in response to that, grabbing the pants and heading to the bathroom attached to make himself look at least somewhat presentable. “I told them not to do that,” he tried to tell her around the toothbrush in his mouth, “There’s no point in me having a Christmas tree or decorations or anything like that.”

“You do realize that you’re well on your way to becoming a very sad, very pathetic old man who lives by himself in the house that holds awful memories of his past and never enjoys anything ever, right?”

There was nothing that Derek could say to that, considering how ridiculous it was. He emerged from the room, rubbing his eyes and settling easily into his usual glare-and-grimace.

Lydia was not phased. She merely grabbed his hand and dragged him down the stairs to where a few boxes of decorations were sitting near the tree that was already beginning to lose its needles. He did see, however, that Lydia had taken the time to place it in water before coming up to oh so rudely awaken him from his slumber.

And because it was Lydia, she already had a plan of how she wanted to decorate the tree, what order the decorations were going to go on it, how to best spread out the ornaments so that the entirety of the tree was well-balanced, and a whole bunch of other things that Derek just zoned out of even attempting to listen to.

It was when Derek was being instructed on how to drape the beads and tinsel over the branches at the top that the tiny Lydia couldn’t reach, that he realized there was actually a smile on his face, and worked extremely hard to make it go away so that Lydia wouldn’t come up with any more stupid ideas that would most certainly interrupt his sleeping arrangements.

He forgot that she had an uncanny way of reading people’s minds though, because as Derek was ungainly standing on his toes attempting to place the star on top of the tree, he heard her say, “Oh stop it with the long suffering sighs. I know that you’re having fun because you aren’t telling me that I have no business being in your house.”

Derek winced, and pulled his hand away from the tree as though it had been burned, although when he stepped back to survey the work they had done so far, found himself impressed and somewhat pleased with the way that it was turning out.

“It does look good,” he told Lydia, and she came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her head between his shoulder blades.

“I know,” she said to him.

“But we have to do this later in the day, I refuse to get up before lunchtime, especially when you should be sleeping in on your school break too." 

He felt more than heard the little vibration of her laugh as she pulled him in even more tightly to her chest. “If I don’t get you used to waking up early, what am I supposed to do on Christmas day? Wait until two in the afternoon to come over and open presents with you? I don’t think so, Derek.”

And again he found himself surprised by her—the simple way that she assured him they would be spending the holiday together, the fact that she wanted him to have a a good holiday, and how he didn’t recoil at the thought of spending Christmas with Lydia, sitting on the floor and opening the presents they got for each other, relishing in her delighted smile when she would say something like, “You have much better taste than I thought you did.”

It was with a jolt that Derek realized he hadn’t bought any presents for her—or for any of the pack, and felt a modicum of panic rise in his chest when he realized that the date was less than two weeks away.


	17. Christmas Decorations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott/Erica; rated T.

Lydia was a little bit afraid to be hosting the party at her house this year, for a multitude of reasons. There tended to be more of a mess than she was willing to deal with, Jackson bragging about how much money he spent on each of them, and let’s not even bring up the year that some idiots (namely Boyd and Isaac because they thought it would be hilarious), brought jungle juice. Lydia didn’t want to put any of that strain on her poor household.

One of the main reasons, however, was Scott and Erica. The two of them had been together closing in on three years now, and at each party their outfits got more extravagant, more ridiculous, and more risqué.

The first year that they were a couple, they had showed up at Derek’s house in matching ‘Santa’s Little Helper’ outfits, Erica in a short red skirt with a matching half-top. Scott’s pants were so tight that it was a surprise he could even walk in them, and his green button down shirt was open, showing the smooth planes of his stomach and chest. Both of them had a hat sitting jauntily over their hair, and leathery boots climbing up their calves. 

Derek had shut the door on them when he had seen them, and it had taken Stiles begging for a view of Erica’s pierced belly button (which turned out to be fake) that finally got him to open the door again. An unfortunate view up Erica’s skirt showed that her panties were matching as well, which Isaac took no time pointing out to everyone else in the room while the couple was in the middle of some obscene PDA on the couch.

Last year the party had been at Stiles’s family’s house, because the sheriff and Melissa had insisted on seeing their kids all grown up and taking care of themselves around the holidays. 

Everyone’s attention had been immediately drawn to Scott’s legs which were exposed to the freezing air in the booty shorts he had somehow managed to stuff himself into, and a vest that had the same decorations as Allison’s horrendous Christmas sweater sewn onto it, and a crown on tinsel sitting on his head. Erica’s fingers were interlaced with his, and painted alternating green and red, and a bare arm leading up to a matching set of lacy Victoria’s Secret lingerie, down to the sparkly heels she was wearing on her feet.

Stiles thought it was hilarious, and let them in promptly, dragging the two of them over to his father to show off their bare skin in the chilly December air. The sheriff had immediately flushed and hurried into the kitchen where a burst of laughter came from, signaling the Melissa McCall had been told what her son and his girlfriend were up to.

Lydia could almost feel herself blanching at the thought of what the two of them might be wearing this year. Everyone had agreed that their libidos were well matched, and they seemed to make each other very happy, but… if they hadn’t been so willing to be fairly naked around everyone, they might have been the perfect couple.

As it was, Lydia found herself wishing that they would break up, just for the party, because then maybe their bad ideas wouldn’t feed off of each other for costumes.

Of course, she had no such luck.

They were the last to arrive, as per usual, and the snacks and drinks were already being passed around freely by the time the doorbell rang one last time. Lydia excused herself with a laugh at Allison’s eggnog mustache, and opened the door to a horrifying sight.

Apparently the two of them had decided that clothing just wasn’t good enough this year. The two were decked out in Christmas decorations, only Christmas decorations. Tinsel was draped carefully over Erica’s breasts, and a wreath of something that looked like holly and leaves hung around her hips. Scott had a sort-of scarf of lights around his neck, and his own wreath of leaves and berries which he joyously announced to the stunned room of his friends was mistletoe, and then elbowed Erica in her naked waist.

It took Lydia a moment to gather herself, but when she did, she was quick to take action. “Get out of my house.” 

Neither of them seemed to realize that she was being dead serious, because Erica simply sat herself down next to Allison and stole a sip of her eggnog while Scott stood giving bro hugs to Stiles and Isaac, sharing a giggle at the ingenuity of wearing mistletoe over his dick.

“I don’t want you in my house dressed like fairy porn stars. You can come back when you’ve put on some decent clothing, like shirts. Or underwear even, would be a vast improvement.”

Erica laughed. “Where’s your creativity Lydia? Scott and I spent a lot of time figuring out what we were going to wear!”

Scott nodded. “We had to go shopping for some of this stuff, ok? It was not easy to weave wreaths that would fit around our hips, let me tell you that.”

“I did that,” Erica added, raising her hand. “Scott is absolutely hopeless with anything that involves sewing or weaving or braiding. Or anything, really.”

Lydia glowered. “Fine, but you are not going to be seen leaving my house in that state. I don’t care if you leave tonight, or tomorrow morning, or in a week, you’ll both be leaving fully clothed, and appropriate for the season as well.”


End file.
